Lost in Scanslation
by MarginalMary
Summary: A series of funny one-shots exploring the concept: lost in translation. Canon characters collide with real world oddities. For example:  Shunsui buying a playboy magazine or Kiyone and Sentaro at the ATM machine or Yoruichi taken to the local pound.
1. Ukitake Juushirou

IDN own Bleach. For this purposes of this story, the conversion factor of time is 1 human minute equals 77.05 shinigami minutes.

* * *

_Here, you will find those things we often lose in translation._

1: Don't Question Borrowed Brilliance

* * *

"Mr… Ukitake, was it?" asks the Doctor with a distracted air.

Juurshirou nods pleasantly, lifting one finger in gentle disapproval. "But I prefer Ukitake-tiacho, if you don't mind."

"Right," agrees the Doctor after a slight pause, "Mr. Ukitake." The man in the white coat flips through a file, one page, another page, another page. Flips back to check a figure on the first page.

Bemused, Juushirou observes the room - _a patient's room_ - which he finds funny. English is a goofy language, and this particular homophone (patients/patience) is rather fitting. He has been waiting on this table covered with wrapping paper for thirty minutes — which is 1.06 days in SoulTime.

Good thing Juushirou is a _patient _man.

The Doctor finally looks up from the file labeled '_Jushiro Ukitake._' Then, he nods seriously, walking over to place it in the slotted file-catch on the back of the door.

"Paperwork," Juurshirou sympathizes, "Never much fun, is it?"

The Doctor chuckles heartily, quipping, "Can't live with it, can't live without it."

Juushirou smiles softly, thinking: '_Too true, except the living part. Can't die without it either.'_

Clearing his throat, the Doctor says, "On the patient questionnaire, I noticed that the age blank was filled incorrectly. The nurse who conducted the initial interview and administered the preliminary exam must have written the date in that blank instead. I'm apologize for her incompetence." (Truly, incompetence. The date's wrong too.)

Juushirou would like the English speaking Doctor to articulate slowly, perhaps use fewer I'm-especially-educated words.

Apart from that, Juushirou is sorry too. He knows more than his fair share about incompetent subordinates. (Though he would _never_ say so out loud.) "That's alright," the forgiving superior soothes, "I'm 1310 years young." Then he grins boyishly, bringing the little joke home.

The Doctor stiffens, raises a brow, purses his lips, thinks hard. Trying for lighthearted equanimity, he replies, "_1310_ years? Unlike you, I'm American, you understand. Not all that familiar with the Metric System. Have they changed the measure of time? Europeans… have a funny way of doing things. Why can't they use inches and feet like the rest of the world, eh?" (Metric System = universal. America = a world all its own.)

Juushirou clears his throat, wondering why… never mind. Doing the math in his head and wishing Mayuri-taicho would invent a device to run the figures for him (like a calculator, maybe?), Juushirou decides, "I'm 17 then."

Shifting in his plastic chair uncomfortably, the Doctor asks, "And how long have you been 17?"

Juushirou smiles secretly. "A while."

Which reminds the Doctor of a movie (2 out of 1,000 stars) his daughter dragged him to some weeks ago. Carefully, calmly, unwillingly, he inquires, "You're rather pale, and I imagine you spend much of your time indoors; so, if you don't mind me asking, do you have fangs or a girlfriend you'd like to eat?" The Doctor coughs, "_Drink, _excuse me."

Nearly affronted by the idea of having a girlfriend (What would Retsu think!), Juushirou replies, "I'm not sure what any of that means, but I do spend much of my time indoors with my _friend_, Shunsui-kun."

The Doctor, however, remains doubtful of his patient's sanity. "Your friend, King Kong?"

"No," Juushirou corrects the doctor, wondering what sort of academy certified this man, "_Shun - shui - kun_," sounding it out. Juushirou watches his face closely, willing him to see sense. Because, obviously, Shunsui is not a 'king' nor quite a 'kong' (which means "glorious" and a million other things in Chinese and "king" in Danish), and the idea of Shunsui getting wind of this kingship business is troubling.

Not quite nauseating, but it's a near thing.

Which reminds Juushirou: "I do believe you're a doctor: a _pulmonologist, _correct?"

(Vocab word of the day: pulmonologist - pulmonary specialist, i.e. the lung doc.)

"Why, yes. Yes, I am," supplies the Doctor unnecessarily, fingering his lab coat smugly. All that tuition, hard work, and those favors his parents called in are finally paying off. Recovering himself, he adds, "And I have the results of your blood work, spirometry, and biopsy.

The last two things-he-has mean absolutely nothing to Juushirou, though 'spirometry' sounds like a death sentence. (It isn't. Only a lung capacity test.) Then, the beleaguered captain sighs, knowing it's useless to even ask — all hope has been lost for centuries. (So about a week in HumanTime)

Then, he thinks of Bleach readers who depend on him to be valiant and wise because Ole' Yama is neither — those precious fans who need him to fight the good fight until the bitter, bitter, bitter end.

Juushirou instantly brightens in that special way which makes Division 13 the loveliest of them all. Tone joyous, he inquires, "How long do I have to live?" And in his head, Juushirou pulls a new sheet of metaphorical scratch paper and prepares to do some more math.

The Doctor frowns, confused and deeply disturbed by his patient's sparkly pessimism. "What do you mean by 'how long do I have to live?'" Then, he tilts his head, eyes regretful. He was right: Mr. Jushiro Ukitake is not quite right in the head. Though, he comforts himself, at least the white haired man does not think he's a vampire. Thanks be!

"I..," Juushirou starts. Perhaps, his completely basic and legitimate question was lost in translation. Perhaps, he should break it down. "Let me rephrase: at which point in the future will I cease to be?"

The Doctor shakes his head, dismayed. How can this man discuss death — his own death — so casually! Truth be thought (certainly not told), he's a bit jealous; doctors are supposed to remain clinical and detached. Mr. Ukitake would make a fine physician. However, that does not negate the fact that this was-a-doctor-in-his-last-life (pediatrician) person needs a shrink. The once-was-pediatrician is obviously unhinged: he greets terminal illness with a _smile_?

"You're not dying," the Doctor sputters, "You are sick, yes. But dying? Heavens, no!"

Juushirou is stunned, blank, speechless, overcome, undone, sideways, upside down, and inside out. The only thought surfacing is: _But Heaven_ does _know. Up there, we _know_ I'm dying._

"Does the term 'tuberculosis' mean anything to you?" the Doctor asks tentatively, "Fever, lack of energy and stamina, poor appetite, sallow skin, coughing up blood… sound familiar?"

Each symptom penetrates Juushirou's brain with supernatural force, and he suddenly knows how Shunsui feels when little Nanao beats him over the head.

Fever. Check.

Lack of energy and stamina. Check and Check.

Poor appetite. Just ask anyone who knows him. (They would all say, "Check.")

Sallow skin. Begrudging Check.

Coughing up blood. Check to the nth power.

But what about…

"Why, then, do I have white hair?" Juushirou inquires, voice not necessarily shrewd but near enough to call that adjective to mind.

The Doctor shrugs blithely, (Juushirou is not an albino, so that's off the table.) hypothesizing, "Heredity; perhaps, you're parents had white hair. Otherwise, the lack of pigmentation is a chemical reaction. Exposure to hydrogen peroxide or maybe bleach?"

"Ah," Juushirou concurs ruefully, "Bleach." Kubo and his little quirks: the colorless wonder of Shirou-chans.

The Doctor nods vaguely, continuing, "The treatment is rigorous, and the scar tissue in your lungs will never go away. But you will mend in time."

An Epiphany. Eureka. Holy-wooh!

Type moment.

Juushirou takes one deep breath (which aches a bit), then verifies, "You're absolutely sure I don't have a parasitic-incurable-manga-epic-tear-jerking disease?"

Should he dare to hope again?

The Doctor's had enough of this charade; dropping all professional pretense (and shattering the 4th wall), the man embraces his oc-ness, arguing, "You think I'd make this shit up? I'm not writing this story. Dude, ya' got TB!"

Frowning a little, feeling bad for robbing this Doctor of good cheer and the 4th wall its integrity, Juushirou explains apologetically, "I did not mean to impugn your honor as a man of healing. Only, for many years, I've thought I had a fatal illness, draining my power and making me an easy target for Kubo to kill for emotional impact."

"'Many years?'" the Doctor snorts, ire cooling, "You said you're only 17, remember?" Then, he smiles just a little: apology accepted.

Juushirou grins too wide in return, rivaling the sun's splendor, reveling and celebrating and _breathing_ it all in. There are so many things he's been shrinking away from, things he thought were lost causes because death would render the effort moot. So many projects and ideas he shelved because _tuberculosis_ put his goals out of reach.

But there is a cure! And he will mend in time.

He can finally tell Kiyone and Sentaro to 'just shut up' and tell Shunsui 'If you don't stop drinking, old friend, I'm going to outlive you.'

And he can finally, _finally _confess to Retsu, his sempai. He'll tell her he dreams of unbraiding her long silky hair.

In short, Juushirou can get a life.

Oh, how his twin blades sing of resurrected youth! (They're not present at the moment, but it's the thought that counts.)

And realizing all of this, Juushirou answers finally, "Age is just a number."

And for once, the comment — it's true meaning —is _not_ lost in translation.

* * *

Yey! First one done; a million more to do.

PS: I am American, so I'm allowed to make fun of myself. (If you disagree: Free Speech. Get some.)

Mare!


	2. Kuchiki Byakuya

IDN own Bleach. For the purposes of this piece, we will pretend that Byakuya would not notice someone writing with a pen instead of a brush. (Because I forgot about it.) And pretend the "**_No!_**" somewhere in there is underlined because it won't let me.

Additionally, in the anime Byakuya's reiatsu is white. However, the manga has yet to verify that, and I want it to be pink. So, behold the power of wishful thinking:

* * *

_Here, you will find those things we often lose in translation. _

2: Lighten Up: We're All Misunderstood_._

_

* * *

_

"Hello," says the Therapist in a serene tone, "My name is Therapist, and I am here to evaluate you. Would you mind telling me your name?" The Therapist smiles pleasantly, vaguely happy, maybe just medicated. She puts the tip of her pen to the little notepad on her lap and waits ever so patiently.

"I do mind," Kuchiki Byakuya replies, wondering how he ended up here. Only a minute ago, he was in his office, adhering strictly to his schedule: 12 PM to 1 PM - ridicule Renji, and the next, he was suddenly here in this strange office which looks a lot like his office with the exception of the wonderfully plush couch upon which he sits. (Byakuya would never allow his office to hold such a comfortable piece of furniture; heavens forbid, Renji get too comfortable.) And not two seconds later, this smartly dressed woman arrived with a wane smile and a sigh, quite a show of dominance and cheek — arriving _after_ him, as if he is on _her_ schedule.

"Yes," he decides, repeating, "I do mind."

The Therapist "ah-hm's" knowingly which offends Byakuya, but he is nothing if not genteel. Until he has ascertained the true nature of the situation, he will turn his air-of-disdain dial on low (the pretending-he-doesn't-love-Rukia setting.)

Byakuya wonders regally, muses aristocratically, ponders like a little chieftain. Eventually, he comes to five hypotheses:

a) He has been recognized for his superior stick in the muddiness and equal parts stately and badass power; and so he is here to be evaluated for a promotion.

b) He has been recognized for his super awesome use of wordless laser beams and 6 staves of light spell work; and so he is now being sued by Luke Skywalker for trademark infringement.

c) He has been recognized for his other worldly beauty and impressive color-page portfolio; and so he is here to be interviewed for a shampoo and conditioner endorsement deal.

d) He has been recognized for his quiet martyrdom and universal grief, and the readers have decided to make him a saint.

e) Someone is fucking with him, and this ill humored joker will die.

"Well now, under the recommendation of several..," the Therapist glances down at her notes, reading carefully, "'close personal friends,' it seems that you're in need of my services." She lifts her pen, gesturing indistinctly, and continues, "How does that make you feel?"

Byakuya turns his head slightly, giving her a clear shot of his chiseled profile (to ensure a favorable outcome to hypothesis c. or d.) Looking off into the melancholic distance, he replies, "I feel nothing."

The Therapist studies him with mournful eyes. This poor man has lost his will to _feel_, to embrace metaphysical rainbows and sunshine and Chappy bunnies which make life worth living! (She doesn't think in terms of Chappy bunnies, but I do; so, yeah.) She checks the little box next to emotional paralysis and asks another asinine question, "Does this numbness affect your performance at work?"

Quintessentially Kuckiki, Byakuya nods — only once — saying, "Numb? Emotion of any sort is beneath my office. Cleansing the world of hollows requires self possession above all else."

_'Cleansing the world of hollows?'_ the Therapist wonders, scribbling another note on Mr. Byakuya Kuchiki's chart, '_Projecting a feeling of disconnection or hollowness? Disassociation through symbolic speech?'_

"And how about your family life?" she probes, eyes narrow, wondering if her new patient is in worse condition than the original plea for help suggested. Unconsciously, her unoccupied hand drifts to her pocket where she has tucked the little letter — the plea for help — securely.

Byakuya nearly frowns, catches himself, merely narrows his steel eyes instead. Idly, he wishes he could lift his arms in the universal gesture for _hell no_ and warn 'you _so_ don't want to go there,' but he will not infringe upon Ichi-idiot's role as the blustering fool. (Especially not now when he could be facing copyright infringement charges as per hypothesis b.) "I..," Byakuya hesitates the span of a flashstep, "The Kuchiki Clan is well in hand." Silently smug, he congratulates himself for poise under pressure from this unknown quarter.

"Hmn," the Therapist sighs noncommittally, "And what of your sister? According to the summons I received from your 'close personal friends,' you have a sister. Rukia, is it?" Checking her facts lest she fumble-bumble — this man does not seem the type to forgive even the tiniest error — she expands, "Yes. She's your deceased wife's biological sister? You adopted her, ignored her for years, almost killed her orange boyfriend, supported a forged order for her execution, almost killed her _other_ red boyfriend (Why isolate IchiRuk or RenRuk fans? All inclusive fun!), then tried to kill the first orange boyfriend again, and then saved her from the forces of evil at the last possible moment. However, it is my understanding that when you finally came to your senses, you were quite heroic and redeemable."

Byakuya's level glare falls infinitesimally, his porcelain face pales imperceptibly, his jaw pulses indiscernibly. The horror… Kuchiki ancestors dead and double-dead be shamed, is _that_ what he sounds like on paper? What if — on this strange, three dimensional plane of existence — Hisana can hear this ignoble PowerPoint-style summary of his actions?

And then the graceful gallop of thoroughbred horses in his head (Byakuya does _not_ have wheels in his head) comes to a jarring halt.

_**No!**_

Wait just one scarf toting, bold, underlined, italicized moment!

Boyfriends? Did she say _boyfriends?_

"I must have misheard you — No, that would make it my mistake, and I've only admitted to being mistaken once in my entire life (see chapter 179.) Thus, I conclude that you must have misspoken; did you say _boyfriends?_" Byakuya demands, tone waspish but still glass smooth.

The Therapist's hands shake slightly as she removes the crumpled plea for help from her pocket hastily. Smoothing out atop her notepad, she reads slowly, _"The aforementioned proceeded to beat his sister's boyfriends, as in plural — bold, italicized, underlines, ect.— to within an inch of their lives. We, that is to say my arguably-canon-romantic-interest and I, fear that my dear, dear pupil is suffering tremendous guilt for these and countless other errs in judgment."_ Her unremarkable eyes flicker to Byakuya's face, watching his nostrils flare, metaphorical fury-smoke furling hence and also from his elven ears. (Couldn't help myself.)

Byakuya's brain bifurcates, one half dancing on the line between in-character and out-of-character, the other carrying on this conversation mechanically, "I assume then that this is not a psychological evaluation for promotion to Division 0?" Byakuya inhales tightly, control slipping away, away, away, o'er yonder. The walls of the Therapist's office begin to buckle, and the fey manga winds begin to blow, a phantasm of pink and violet obscuring the lens through which the author of this ludicrousness views the scene.

The Therapist is not sure what to make of this 'Division 0' business, but as Kubo has decided that normal souls are unaffected by reiatsu because they have no spiritual awareness (that might just be something I picked up from fanfiction), she does not fall unconscious or even notice the… _deadly pinkness_. "No, this is not an evaluation for promotion," she concurs slowly. To save us a lot of time, she adds, "Nor is it in relation to a lawsuit brought upon by Luke Skywalker, a hair-care endorsement deal, or the canonization of one Byakuya Kuchiki."

His eyes fall shut for a moment, and he tries to remember all the reasons he should not to kill this odd, fearless creature who dares to address him with no honorifics and in backwards order. Perhaps, it's a conspiracy to undermine his calm, cool, collected demeanor… _backwards_? Perhaps, Shinji is involved.

_'Canonization_.' Ah, yes. He must think hard and deeply to unravel this sinister plot. Where in canon was he ever a pupil? (Chapter -150) Who, other than himself and beloved Hisana, is involved in an arguably canon romance? Who would do _this_ to him?

Byakuya considers every character he has ever known, wishing he'd paid a bit more attention to the names and faces of the little peons in the background of all those glorious Byakuya-centric panels, and he swears upon Kuchiki honor (which is sort of like Quincy honor but pinker) that the responsible person or persons will pay in blood.

While he is in the throws of harrowing contemplation, the Therapist interjects stupidly, "I think we will close our first session here. We've made quite a bit of progress. Over the next week, I suggest continued reflection upon your actions, and when you return, we'll switch our focus to the main issue."

Opening his gray eyes, incensed by the mere idea of _ever _returning here, Byakuya asks disdainfully (dial turn to 7th-Espada-raises-a-blade-to-his-pride setting), "The _main_ issue? What could possibly be more problematic than the idea that my pride has two boyfriends?" Rukia, his pride and Hisana's legacy, with two boyfriends!

The Therapist lifts a brow, wondering just how many disorders this handsome gentleman has. He seems to be under the impression his pride is personified, homosexual, and promiscuous. "According to the letter from your close personal friends, the main issue," she replies tonelessly, "is your severe ailurophobia."

"Excuse me, what?" Byakuya objects, standing now with diet deadly purpose. He's not sure what this 'ailurophobia' is and doesn't like it when people accuse him of concepts he doesn't even understand (like having close personal friends.) He wears ignorance poorly, not like his flowing scarf at all. And so, he interprets this tomfoolery as a challenge.

"Ailurophobia is a fear of cats," the Therapist explains, "A serious phobia of felines."

Hypothesis e. someone is fucking with him has been confirmed, and — Byakuya speaks the last part aloud — "The cat _will_ die."

Elsewhere, Shihouin Yoruichi sneezes, and Urahara Kisuke checks the time. Both of Byakuya's '_close personal friends_' are currently sitting down to a romantic late lunch complete with many, many, many bowls.

"Hmm," Kisuke wonders mysteriously, "Think he's figured it out yet?"

Yoruichi smirks, concluding, "Figured out that I spirited him away in a flash and you did one of those Kubo-needs-something-impossible-done-so-make-Urahara-do-it things to transport him to a shrink's office? ... Probably. Right about now, little Byakuya wants to kill me."

Kisuke lifts his fan to cover his wide grin, but his glowing eyes give him away. He notes, "True, but... he'd have to catch you first."

"Like that'll ever happen!" Yoruichi mutters, lifting another bowl and shoveling its contents down her gullet.

Though separated by time, place, one spatial dimension, and every other divide imaginable, Yoruichi and the Therapist share a single thought:

'_The dude really needs to lighten up.'_

_

* * *

_

A/N:

This one was fun! I'm so glad people like these. They're a wonderful sort of recess from my serious stuff. Thanks for reading.

This one is dedicated to Ryfee for her help and inspiration. I love you!

**_I am taking requests on these! So, if you have a cool idea, please let me know, and I'll write it on the double!_**


End file.
